the truth of it is, i want to be like you
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: Maybe Sam's not the only one that's always wanted something more. Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

-Note- Okay, so this just kind of hit me one day. Everyone just assumes that Dean wants the life they have, because he gets so upset with Sam about leaving. I felt maybe there was a little more to that. The lyrics were a last minute add at the request of my wonderful 'muse in a mask', Miss Cinnamon, because she loves songfics. So of course, here they are. :) I do after all owe her much of my sanity! The rest goes out to you awesome reviewers. -Note-

_I've let you down _

_Dragged you around,  
Wasted my money on messing my head up._

Dean stood up suddenly, throwing down a few bills and giving Sam a half wave from across the bar. The smoke filled room and constant attempts at flirtation were beginning to make his head spin. His body hurt, his head hurt, his god damn heart hurt. He didn't know what to do anymore or what it was he was doing right now. Except for the fact that he was sitting in a bar with his younger brother and drinking heavily, very heavily. He had a feeling that he was going to be doing that for a long time, until he figured a way out. Or some other way to stop his heart from aching. But for now, he needed to get some air, to have some space to think.

The past few weeks had been rough, finally having Dad back. Having Sam back. They'd spent so much time together, hunting like they used to, fighting like they used to, that it had begun to feel like home again.

With Jess gone Sam had decided to leave Stanford for a while, really stick around and help find Dad while he tried to get through the grieving process without losing what was left of his brilliant geek boy mind. Only now, they'd found Dad.

Dean had always known deep down that he'd have to give Sam up again eventually, that things could never last. He'd learned that when he was four, but for some reason that rule had never seemed to apply to Sam.

No rules ever seemed to apply to Sam when it came to Dean. That was something he hadn't learned over the years.

A routine had begun to soothe Dean's nerves, his doubts about his brother's return silenced for the time being, right along with any other thoughts or worries. The only one he really seemed to care about was _Sammy's really here_. Anything beyond that was shoved down, kept locked away with every other fear and emotion Sam was constantly try to yank out of him.

Still, Sam had stuck around for a few weeks more, having the good grace not to bring up leaving again in front of Dean. Not since that first night when things had almost ended for good between them. Dean just didn't understand how Sam could walk away again. He hadn't even understood it the first time around, but for Sam to walk out on them again, on him, when Jess wasn't even there anymore.

It seemed that Stanford just meant more to Sam then Dean ever could.

Yet here they were, in another town, another bar, another hustle. Dad waiting back at the motel, researching, looking for new leads. The only reason Dean had even agreed to go out tonight with Sam was to keep Sam and Dad apart.

Sam may have decided to stick around for a little while longer, but he hadn't decided to take a break from fighting with Dad, because that's all they ever seemed to do. Four years away at Stanford hadn't changed a damn thing between them, but it had changed everything between Sam and Dean.

If Dean had to stick around for one more argument-one more chance for Sam to put Dean in his place and not even bother to try and put him in the middle anymore-he was going to snap. Any progress they'd made halfway out the window with every ill spoken word. Meant to hurt Dean, or not.

So Sam was working the tables tonight and Dean was supposed to be working the bar. He'd agreed to come out tonight to keep Dad and Sam from fighting, but he just wasn't up for the hustle. Or the flirting.

Dean shot Sam a half hearted smirk to his worried gaze and backtracked out of the bar, sure to keep his eyes away from anyone who may think he was interested in leaving with anybody but himself. Pushing free of what had become a claustrophobic prison, Dean strolled out into the cool night air, taking the first real look at his surroundings.

The night sky was bright, lit by thousands of stars he'd never given a second thought to before. The streets dark and empty besides the few cars coming and going from the bar's parking lot. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot to do in a town like this and the only bar in town seemed to be the real hotspot. Which was why Dean needed to get the hell out of there while he still had some of his sanity.

He fingered the keys in his pocket for a moment, opting to walk instead. The Impala had once been a sanctuary for him, but now all it held were bittersweet memories and reminders of the things he'd lost or would lose again in the end.

It wasn't worth dwelling on, worth making himself sick over, because it didn't do any good and he damn well knew it, but that didn't make it any easier to forget, or to move on. Moving on had never been Dean's strong suit when it came to family. Anything else he could forget without any effort at all.

The blonde in whatever town they'd been in last, or maybe the one before, only a blur of some sordid attempt at breaking free of whatever had such a firm hold on his heart. It was only one sordid attempt after the other, always coming back to a sleeping or researching Sam who didn't bother to give him a second thought. A grunted greeting before returning to his books, or simply rolling over and going back to sleep once he realized it was only Dean.

Only Dean.

The motel wasn't an option either, seeing as how Dad would be there waiting or sleeping. Though more than likely searching. He'd give Dean even less of a response if he went back now, except for maybe a _where's your brother? _and a disapproving look when Dean said he'd left him behind. It wouldn't matter to Dad that Sam was twenty-three now or that he'd somehow managed on his own for four years, he was still Sammy and he was still Dean's responsibility. And truthfully, Dean didn't want to go far from his brother anyway. Always fearing that if he turned his back for even just a moment too long Sam would be gone. And for good this time.

He reached inside his jacket pocket, searching for the only comfort he had now that he'd left the bar, a pack of cigarettes he'd been keeping-just in case. Lighting the cigarette he watched with little interest as it bloomed a bright orange, smoke already beginning to peel away from it.

Dean brought it up to his lips, taking in his first lungful of nicotine relief as he made his way out of the half full parking lot. He may not want to go too far from Sam, but he didn't really want to be anywhere near his brother right now either. It seemed that every doubt and fear he had now stemmed from Sam in some way and as comforting as the cigarette was, it was only a cigarette and Sam was Sam.

The damage was done.

He walked along the side of the road, sucking in poisoned breath after poisoned breath, and let it fill his aching chest as best it could. A car or two passed, nothing much for him to give notice too, and finally he grew bored with aimless wandering. His cigarette was nearly half gone, and he was already itching to light another.

Coming to some odd sort of embankment, where the road sloped downward into grass filled nothingness, he carefully made his way down to nearly level ground and took a seat. He leaned back, propping himself up on elbows, legs extended with slightly bent knees and took another nicotine soaked pull.

It'd be a long time before he got to do this again. Dad was closing in another lead and it was only a matter of time before the three of them were once more up against the yellow-eyed demon that had started this disaster of a life. They'd win, because they were Winchesters, and Sam would leave.

It would be Dad and Dean for a while, then slowly Dad would pull away from him too, until Dean was left alone again in bittersweet solitude. So he'd better enjoy the momentary solitude that would allow him to go back to some semblance of family before it became a permanent part of his life.

Dean tilted his head back, staring blindly up at the night sky. The last time he'd done this it had been with Sam, barely sixteen and still blissfully unaware that his adoring younger brother would become an angry and distant teenager. A far cry from the sweet, sunny faced Sam that had once followed Dean's every movement.

Dad had just given Dean the Impala and with much pushing and pleading had finally agreed to let the boys go off on their own for the night. Sam had been ridiculously excited at the prospect of no Dad, the Impala, and an open road. Something he so openly scorned now.

Dean had driven far from their apartment, far from Dad, far from their life, until he'd come to a field much like this. Pulling off the road, he'd taken two blankets from the trunk and laid them out. Sam may have only been twelve then, but he was already well on his way to being the geek boy he was today, rattling off stars and constellations, and whatever stories went along with them before they'd even settled themselves.

Hands linked behind their heads they stared up at the night sky, elbows touching, chests rising and falling in time together. The last real time they'd ever spent together in peace.

There were no angry words, or sullen glances. Only Sam's smiling face and excited voice as he continued to share every bit of knowledge he had on the stars with Dean.

Thinking back on it, Dean realized he'd taken that time for granted. As much as he'd valued family, and loved Sam, he'd never taken it to heart like he did now when Sam simply smiled-honestly, brightly-at Dean and no one else.

The loss of his brother four years ago had been devastating, sending him into a tailspin of selfishness. Nights filled with binge drinking and one night stands, when he should have been calling to check on Sam. Or when he really should have made the trip to Palo Alto with Sam in the first place to get him set up.

It might not have been as bad if Dean hadn't fallen in love with Sam, but he had. It had taken him two years to come to grips with and the only time he'd ever been able to admit it to himself was the night that Sam told Dean he was leaving.

The sudden ache in his chest, the way his throat closed up and his lungs seemed to stop working, there'd only ever been one reason for it and it had suddenly become all too clear. The love he had for Sam had slowly grown into something much more, until he'd crossed a line he didn't even know existed.

Sam had left the next day and Dean had another two years to work past it, and another two to realize that Sam was never really coming back. He'd thought he was over it, over Sam and every sick, twisted fantasy he'd ever used to find some kind of satisfaction when he got too tense or couldn't sleep. When Dad had gone missing and he'd gone looking for Sam-to his extreme reluctance-he'd realized there was no getting over Sam. That if four years away from his brother couldn't do it, if the fact that his brother's love belonged to someone and someplace else couldn't cure him of it, then nothing could.

He could live without Sam's love, could live with that gut wrenching desire to feel Sam, to kiss him and finally have the chance to claim him. What he couldn't live with, was Sam's leaving again.

Dean just didn't think he could survive that.

xXx

Sam frowned and watched Dean quickly make his way out of the bar, his head bent and eyes downcast. He hadn't even picked anyone up and already he was out the door, barely making it through an hour out of the motel room.

He hadn't believed in Dean's weak attempt at a smirk for one second. They'd found Dad, Sam was home, what more did Dean want from him? He'd been trying like hell since he'd been back to close the gap between them, to be Sam and Dean again, but he couldn't seem to do it.

The more he tried, the further away Dean seemed to get. His brother had always been closed off and distant, not one for emotions or talking beyond anything superficial or supernatural, but this was bad even for Dean. And now he was leaving a bar without drinking, hustling, or fucking-which was the only thing he ever left Sam behind for in the first place.

Sam excused himself from the game, not caring if it cost him two hundred or five hundred dollars, whatever the game was up to now. He didn't usually play for money like this, and hustling was usually Dean's thing, but tonight he'd just given up. Dad was obsessively searching for a lead like always and Dean was slowly becoming unbearable to be around.

The desperate attempts at reclaiming what they'd had was wearing on his nerves. There was only so much rejection Sam could take, especially when it was coming from his older brother, and he was damn near at his limit.

He pushed his way through the crowd and stepped outside the bar, scanning the parking lot for Dean. When he didn't hear the roar of the Impala, Sam figured he'd started walking, or had ducked out of sight for a smoke he didn't think Sam knew anything about. Either way, Sam was tired of games and he wanted to talk.

Sam wasn't stupid, he understood how badly he'd hurt his brother when he'd left. He had known it when his cell didn't ring for the next four years, or how he couldn't even bring himself to hit send every time he dialed Dean's number. But Sam also knew how pointless it was to wallow in his regrets and his pain, all the while a new opportunity was staring him in the face.

After four years he finally had Dean in front of him, so close that he could reach out and touch his brother without the influence of alcohol. Four years of bitter regrets and betrayal finally coming to an end, if only Dean would let him in.

He wanted so badly to be able to go back to when they were kids and have Dean lean over, ruffle his hair and give him an honest to God smirk that didn't ask _how long this time?_ He missed those times when he could crawl into Dean's bed and wake him in the middle of the night because he was scared or just because he wanted to talk. When he felt like his life had meaning and there was somebody in it that cared about him. When his life felt like it had real _purpose._

As badly as he wanted to go back to that, as much as it killed him to remember what he'd had and how quickly it had slipped through his fingers, without the kind of appreciation that time had deserved, he knew there was no going back. Only forward.

Sam was lucky enough to have the chance to go forward with Dean, and he wasn't going to let that fade away as quickly as their past had. Stanford had seemed to hold all the answers, all the possibilities, and a fresh start. One that took him out of the nomadic life style he hated, away from the sickening love he felt for Dean, and into something that he could call normal.

He hadn't realized how wrong he'd been about Stanford until that day had come. The broken look of betrayal and defeat on Dean's face as he'd waved him off with a false smirk-the first in a never ending line of them-and that chapter of his life came to a close.

He didn't want new opportunities, he didn't want the changes that at one time he'd felt he'd die without. What Sam wanted was his older brother, in every way Dean would let him.

Wrong or right, so long as he had Dean near him.

He made his way around the side of the bar, walking aimlessly forward into the night in search of Dean. His brother hadn't gotten far, at least that he knew. Sam had followed him out less than five minutes later and there were only so many places Dean could go on foot in a town like this. The only place besides the bar that was even probably open was the tacky diner down the road. But if Dean had left his baby in the parking lot, it had been because he needed air, and the last place he was going to get that was in a diner filled with flirty waitresses who couldn't wait to get the hell out of this nowhere town.

It was the same everywhere they went, they all seemed to look at Dean as if he held the key to their escape. There was something about his brother that screamed freedom, chance, and oh, yeah, sex. Sam wasn't dumb enough to believe that Dean's looks didn't have something to do with it, but it was his brother's smile that sealed the deal. Or maybe the quick witted remarks or smooth talking he could do without batting an eye. The soft, slow drawl of Dean's voice instantly grabbing hold of their rapidly beating hearts, a flash of teeth only squeezing them for added effect.

God forbid Dean turn off the charm and be sincere. There was no escaping him then, Sam knew that more than anybody. It had been one of those rare moments when Dean had opened up to Sam, that he'd realized how deep in love he was with his older brother.

His eyes had glittered with unshed tears, jaw trembling as he tried his damnedest to remain in control of his cool façade, before finally giving up and letting his walls crumble. It had been after a hunt that had gone wrong, leaving Sam with a broken arm and bruised ego. Dean having dislocated his shoulder in his attempt at protecting Sam.

Dean was as usual taking everything on himself, conveniently forgetting that Sam had disobeyed a direct order in the first place and put himself in harm's way. Granted it had been out of worry for Dean, but still, if he had listened to Dad neither of them would have gotten hurt.

That was the first time Dean had ever put into words how he felt for Sam. Not that Sam had ever questioned it, he had known all his life that Dean loved him, simply by the way he acted around everyone else. Dean was always charming and bright eyed with them no matter what, but with Sam he was real. He got angry and he hurt like everyone else. Sam was just the only one that got to see and that meant everything.

Still, hearing Dean tell him that he didn't know what he'd do without Sam, before enveloping him in a breathtaking hug, had been monumental. And every lie Sam had been telling himself suddenly seemed ridiculous. He was in love with Dean and there was no way around it.

Stanford hadn't cured him of it and neither had Jess, as much as he'd wanted to love her. To start over with her and have a family that Sam had never craved like Dean. It was selfish and wrong, and the only bigger mistake he'd made in his life was not telling Dean what he meant to him.

Sam was growing tired of looking for Dean, the worry beginning to set in that Dean had done something foolish and gotten himself hurt. Purposely, or otherwise. He was about ready to give it up and wait for Dean back at the bar when he heard the familiar snick of a cigarette lighter.

Shaking his head, Sam headed back towards the embankment he'd just passed and made his way down. He found Dean with his head tilted back, cigarette dangling from between sinful lips, and eyes closed.

He didn't seem to notice Sam as he dropped down beside him, neither saying a word, which was probably for the best. Nothing either said seemed to come out right, leaving one angry or the other backtracking, sometimes both. Half the time Sam wondered if maybe the best thing he could do for Dean was just shut the hell up and let Dean come to him, but then he remembered how many times that had happened before and the fear of losing his brother only intensified.

They sat like that for five, ten, twenty minutes, Dean staring up at the sky, Sam staring at Dean, and neither saying a damn word. The only sound around them their quiet breathing and the occasional car passing by.

The silence was weighing heavily on Sam, his jaw clenched tightly together to keep it that way. There was a reason Dean had left, a reason Dean wasn't talking to him, a reason that they were so far from close.

Even though we both know that you can't.

"I can't be like him, Sam. I can't."

And there it was.

I'm gonna die tonight,  
I swear to God I'm gonna die.


	2. Chapter 2

-Note- Special thanks to my girlie, Miss Cinnamon, without whom I'd be completely lost! Reviews keep my breathing, so review! -Note-

Sam started, unsure if Dean had actually spoken or if it had all been in his head until Dean glanced over at him. The sudden terror and shock in Dean's eyes like he couldn't believe he'd said anything to Sam either, clearing up any doubt.

"What are you talking about?" Who couldn't Dean be like?

"Dad," Dean clarified, turning away again. He brought the cigarette up to his lips, taking in a slow drag. "I can't be like him."

Sam stared at Dean, trying to process what his brother had just admitted to him. All his life he'd thought that's what Dean had wanted, what he'd been striving for. To be like the unbeatable John Winchester. No one was as fast, as smart, or as thorough as their Dad, and Dean had never done anything but try to emulate that. Never once had he ever shown the need for anything else.

"I know what you think about me, Sam…" Dean said softly. "I know how much you hate-"

He jerked to attention then. "I don't hate anything about you," he snapped. Dean could say and think whatever else he wanted, but Sam wasn't about to let him think Sam felt anything other then love for him.

Dean was strong and quick, a little stubborn sometimes but so was Sam. If anything it was the one trait they all shared. He never gave anything less than his best, even if he didn't believe in it. Not as long as it meant something to someone. How was Sam supposed to hate that? How was he supposed to do anything other than love and adore the older brother who had gone out of his way to make sure Sam was as happy as he could be, no matter what that cost him?

Dean shrugged, "I can't be like him," he said. Completely disregarding anything else Sam may have to say.

His cheeks hollowed out as he pulled another hit from the cigarette, leaving Sam scolding himself for thinking of anything other than his brother's problem at hand. It was hard though to focus on that when Dean's tongue swiped across his bottom lip, teeth dragging across it an instant later.

"He's obsessed and blind to everything else," Dean went on. " He can't let anyone in. Always pushing us away, like we're no better than the rest. I fucking-"

"You're not like him," Sam cried in frustration, readjusting himself as subtly as possible. Did Dean want to talk or did he want Sam to jump him there and then?

Sure, Dean was hard to talk to sometimes. Especially when it came to emotions, but Dean was far from Dad's level of it. Dean felt things and he loved more than anyone Sam had ever known. The way he protected and sacrificed for his family without any thought for himself.

Sam had never met anyone more giving and loving then Dean, even if he couldn't see it. Even if Dean couldn't let him say it. He'd always known it, always believed it. Dean could try as hard as he wanted, but the only thing Dean could never do was be like Dad. It just wasn't in him.

Dean snorted. "That why you ran so fast, Sammy?"

He should have known that was coming. It always came back to his walking away.

"Never from you," he swore. "You know leaving had nothing to do with you, Dean."

Not in the way his brother thought. If Sam had ever had a reason for staying it was Dean. He'd never even meant to leave for good, that had been Dad's choice and Dean had been too angry with him to fight it, or bother to ignore it. Sam was hurting on that just as much as Dean was.

"Didn't it?" Dean shot back. "You were always angry with me, wanting me to fight Dad more on-"

"On dragging us around like we didn't matter," Sam interrupted. "Like what we wanted didn't matter if it wasn't what Dad wanted too. It was never because I wanted away from you. I wanted away from this life, from Dad, not you." His heart just wasn't in anything else.

"You know, you keep saying that, Sam," Dean yelled, his quiet bitterness long gone. "But you didn't just walk out on our life or on Dad, you walked out on me too!"

"And you walked out on me just as easily!" Sam argued. "You could have come to Stanford, you could have called, you could have done anything besides ignore me until _Dad_ needed me. Did you ever want me to come back in the first place, Dean? Or were you with Dad on that one too?" As angry as Dean was about Sam's walking away, he sure the hell hadn't made much of an effort to chase after him. This was a two way street and Dean shared some fault in things too.

Dean pushed to his feet, walking a few steps before stopping. Sam winced, waiting for Dean to remind Sam how everything was his fault and no amount of reasoning or logic could change that. That was the theme in every conversation they ever had after all.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Dean said softly instead, flicking his cigarette to the ground. "I never have."

Swearing softly, Sam climbed to his feet and followed Dean. Just when he thought he had his brother figured out, Dean went and changed things up on him. And then he walked away. That was probably the only familiar thing about life now.

"Then why are you running from me?" Sam demanded. He caught Dean's arm, refusing to let this go any further than it had. He was back, he wasn't leaving, and he wanted Dean. In any way he could have him.

"I'm not running from you," Dean insisted, nervously reaching for another cigarette.

Sam grabbed his hand, "Then what are you running from?" He wasn't going to deal with Dean's stalling tactics, or the short bursts of anger that usually had Sam backing down. For once this conversation was going to go somewhere other then a fist fight.

"Sam," Dean sighed, jerking his hand away. "Don't push this."

How could Sam not push this? Dean was walking away from him again and again, giving him just a little bit of himself when he was at his weakest and always regretting it later. There was no point in denying it, because afterwards Dean avoided him and when he did talk to him it was short, snappy. Everything Dean had never been with him before.

"What are you running from?" he demanded. "Dammit, Dean, talk to me!"

"What about, Sam?" Dean snapped. "You want me to spill my heart out right now, like some chick flick moment out of the movies? Because that's not gonna happen. You know exactly what I'm feeling!"

"No!" Sam yelled, "I really don't! You're angry, you're hurt, but that's it, Dean. That's all I know. And if you won't talk to me, I don't know how to fix it." He just didn't know how to fix anything anymore.

"Fix it," Dean snorted. "Fix what?"

"Us." Jesus, didn't Dean see how fucked up they were now? They couldn't talk without fighting, without hating each other. That wasn't how brothers were, that wasn't how _they _were.

They were Sam and Dean, and since when did that mean nothing?

Dean shook his head and took a step back. "You can't fix that."

Sam went cold, his heart breaking at the honest look on Dean's face. It wasn't anger talking now, driving Dean away from him. It was the honesty of it and the pain of knowing that Sam and ruined everything good in his life - in _both_ their lives.

xXx

Dean hated the broken look on Sam's face and he nearly took it back. He nearly moved forward and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, forgiving everything between them as long as it meant that Sam would stop looking at him like that. But he couldn't - it just wasn't that easy. No matter how God damn much he wanted it to be.

"Why?" Sam swallowed, "Why can't I fix that?"

He dropped his eyes, watching Sam's fists slowly unclench. He was trying so hard to keep it all together and it wasn't any easier for Sam. Both standing there, wanting the same, and neither knowing how.

"Because I don't know how," Dean admitted softly. He hadn't known for a long time.

Sam moved forward, his hand reaching out and then quickly dropping. Proving exactly what Dean was saying. They couldn't fix Sam and Dean, they couldn't fix anything they'd broken between each other no matter how badly they wanted to, because Sam couldn't even touch Dean. And Dean couldn't even tell Sam how he felt.

"Talk to me," Sam pleaded.

Dean shook his head. "I can't." It just wasn't that easy.

Sam swore loudly. "What the hell are you running from, Dean?" When Dean didn't answer, he stepped forward, crowding Dean. "What are you running from?"

He stared up at Sam, his heart thundering in his ears. "You," he whispered.

Sam's anger disappeared, confusion clouding puppy dog eyes, and Dean lost every bit of sense he'd been holding onto for the past six years. He slipped his hands into Sam's shaggy brown hair and delivered his answer with a bruising kiss. This is what he was running from: Sam, his feelings, truth.

He licked his way into Sam's mouth, letting a hand drift down to cup his cheek as the kiss turned gentle. Dean had waited a long time for this and he was going to make it count if this was the last time he saw his brother.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, pinning him to his chest and covered Dean's hand with the other. Surprisingly moving closer instead of pulling away like Dean had imagined all those years. He'd done everything he could to keep those feelings hidden, to protect Sam, but when Sam was practically begging for a reason. What else could he do?

When the kiss finally broke, Sam's lips swollen and cherry red, Dean found himself once more reaching for him. His cherry red lips begging to be kissed all over again. Sam stopped him this time, his hand wrapping around the back of Dean's neck.

"Dean," he asked tentatively.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized quickly. "Sammy, I shouldn't have done that."

He shouldn't have done a lot of things and that had never stopped him before, but he'd thought that protectiveness he felt for Sam could at least keep this from every happening.

Obviously he was wrong. He was a danger to Sam, and he had to put as much distance between them as possible and now.

"I'm not," Sam said quickly. "Don't pull back now, Dean. I just want to know if you did that for me, or for you."

His thumb came up, brushing along Dean's jaw as he waited for an answer. His puppy dog eyes, wide and questioning. Dean couldn't see even the smallest bit of disgust or shock in Sam's eyes, only wonder and worry.

"Me," he answered wearily. If he'd done anything for Sam, it would have been walking away like he should have. Instead he'd been selfish, and unloaded his sickness all over Sam and his too damn kissable lips.

"That's all I needed to know."

All he needed to know? Dean had just kissed him. Fucking kissed Sam's mouth raw with tongue, teeth, and no regrets. It wasn't that easy. Nothing was that easy.

"Sammy," Dean protested. "how can-"

Sam laughed softly and took a page out of Dean's book, silencing him with a fevered kiss. "That's all I needed to know," he repeated. "That's how."

He nuzzled at Dean's neck, taking advantage of their new sudden closeness. Softly nipping at Dean's throat every now and then as he stroked a hand through Sam's hair.

"I love, Dad," Dean said suddenly, burying his face into the crook of Sam's neck. The thought never far from his mind. "But I don't want that to be us. I want something more, no matter what you think." He just couldn't seem to find his way to it. All he'd ever been about was his family, it was all he'd ever believed in. And to try and separate from that, no matter what, was impossible.

"Us?" Sam asked, running a hand down Dean's back to grip his waist. "Dean, I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean sighed and kissed the underside of Sam's jaw. He didn't ever want Sam to understand that, to see them the way he saw Sam and Dad. The anger and misunderstandings that kept them from doing anything other than fighting.

"Dean," he pushed. "What don't you want us to be?"

"The way it is with you and Dad," Dean finally admitted. "I don't want you to hate me one day, because of this, or because of anything else. It had to be said as much as he hated it.

What they'd just done had changed things, for better or worse. And if it could end with Sam hating him, then it was best to walk away now while he still had all of his heart.

Sam laughed, "You think I could hate you?" he asked incredulously.

"One day," Dean said. "Yeah." How unbelievable was that, when it had taken as long as it had to get to this point?

He laughed harder, all seriousness in the conversation gone as far as Sam was concerned. The pleading, comforting puppy dog of a younger brother Dean had never needed like this before gone in an instant. Having finally lost his mind if he was laughing at Dean an insecurities that were anything but impossible.

"What's so damn funny?" Dean snapped, his nerves frayed beyond the point of breaking. It wasn't funny. Nothing about losing Sam was funny.

"Sorry," Sam apologized sincerely. He sighed and shook his head. "What's got you thinking like that now? You've never doubted this."

Dean shrugged. It was a lot of things and nothing he could put his finger on. Maybe it was just time catching up to him. Every doubt or worry he'd kept pushed down to keep the peace, or protect himself. He could only run for so long and his time was up.

"Everything, maybe. I don't know, Sam." He pushed back a step. "Watching Dad these few weeks…"

Dad was so closed off and alone, and maybe he didn't feel it, but Dean did. He felt it deep down in his bones and it made him weary. Made it hard to keep fighting when he thought of how quickly his family was slipping away. And a part of him wondered if it was maybe because he hadn't tried enough.

"You're _nothing _like him, Dean," Sam promised, fisting his hands in Dean's hair. "You don't have it in you to let go of love like that. Not when it comes to family."

"I let go of you," he argued. When Sam left for school he didn't fight it. He let his hurt and anger cloud everything else, only pushing Sam further away when what he wanted to do was pull him close and never let Sam out of his sight. Sam had pointed it out himself.

"Did you?" Sam asked. "If I left now…"

"If I lost you," Dean confessed. "I-" he hung his head, blinking back tears. If he lost Sam, he didn't know how he'd deal with it. Didn't know if he could deal with it. The way Dad was now…that was more than Dean could ever hope to be if he lost Sam.

"You're not going to lose me," Sam reassured him, bending down to meet Dean's eyes. "I'm going to be here as long as you let me."

"How, Sam? After everything-it can't be that easy," he protested. All the pain and anger between them, how could it disappear with kisses and a few soft words?

"Like this," Sam murmured, dragging Dean's mouth to his.

Maybe some things really were that easy.


End file.
